Next Contestant
by DoctoressOctopus
Summary: Series spoilers. The Dark Prince’s only goal is what he can get, whatever the price. When old feelings for Farah get in the way of his ambition, he takes the matter into his own hands to settle it permanently. Dark Prince’s POV. Oneshot.


Author's note: Just like before, words in italics are the Prince's thoughts, those in bold are the Dark Prince's.

* * *

Had the Dark Prince a mouth, he would have sneered at this latest display of theatrics. Be that as it may, he had to settle for commenting sarcastically, **Oh, very nice, Prince. Very smooth. The ladies would love it.**

"Quiet." His counterpart quickly made up for his fall by running the Dagger through another warped sand creature as they regained their feet. "It's hard enough _without_ your constant insults."

**Don't mind me. I'm just trying to keep things lively for the moment.**

Although he didn't voice it—or even think it aloud, for he could conceal his thoughts when he needed to—they both knew what "for the moment" really meant.

"Then you're going to be running your mouth for quite a while," said the Prince, almost smugly. As another opponent fell, they turned towards the basin of water that ran throughout most of the rooms on this floor, the edge so close that they could hear the water rippling. "Or do you wish to give it a try now?"

The Dark Prince checked himself as his irritation flared and waited until he could compose his voice before replying. **Getting a little sure of yourself, aren't you?** This, like much of what he said, went ignored, and he was content to fall silent and watch the remainder of the battle.

Although the blood, sweat, and strain of muscle excited and tempted him to strike, the principal opportunity would not come until after the fight. The Prince was constantly on his guard, even when surrounded by external enemies, but the Dark Prince had found when he was usually most vulnerable and used it as often as he could. It was only a matter of time until this strategy was uncovered; still, he was satisfied with what he had done so far.

Getting the woman to see his form—their true, better form, as he personally liked to think of it—had been the hard part. Now, all he had to do was make sure she and the Prince had no time to reconcile. Killing her would have been so much simpler, he knew, and he resented the fact that she breathed yet, but he was patient. He had waited this long, after all, and so a little more time was nothing to him.

**Very good,** he complimented, this time meaning it, as the Prince pulled the Dagger from the final crumbling corpse. **Although that last bit _was _somewhat sloppy.**

Not responding, the Prince dusted some stray bits of sand from his good arm before standing and continuing through the room. The battle over, the Dark Prince sensed his host's former sensations returning: anger, frustration, and, disgustingly, sadness.

**_Please_ don't tell me you're still _upset_**—evident distaste crept into his words—**over her, of all things. You went all those years caring only for yourself, desperate to do this and that simply to save your own skin, but then that woman crosses your path and now you think you're going to repent by**—

_This has nothing to do with my selfishness,_ the Prince argued, speaking in thoughts now that they had once again resorted to stealth. The hall they had entered was vacant, but their footsteps echoed loudly.

**Of course it does! You're going to get us killed trying to ease your own guilt and the foolish feelings you still have for—_move it!_** he ordered, and they were thrown left against a wall as a whirling blade shot out of the floor in a lightning fast arc. No sooner had it disappeared again did both princes perceive the flagstone that sank under the weight of their foot—they looked over their shoulder for the source of the resonating _chink_ that had sounded—

_There._ Barely in the nick of time, the Prince used their left leg and arm to launch away from the wall, landing on their other hand and bringing their body around in a liquid movement to right it once more. A splintered log full of spikes sped past, but after reaching the end of its track retracted back into the floor.

—**And _that_ is exactly my point! If your mind weren't so full of nonsense, you would have seen that trap a mile off.** Again, he was disregarded. **If you're not going to think of yourself, **he added, **do us both a favor and at least think of _my_ life.**

He wasn't expecting a reply, so he was surprised to receive a flat _I am._ When silence announced the Dark Prince's confusion, the Prince continued, _You want Farah dead._

**And?** No sense in lying.

_For that reason alone I want to be rid of you. You should know that part of my journey now is to be free—_ Even in the low light, the Daggertail glinted coldly as he lifted the wounded arm that bore it.

**Free? **he echoed. **How much more freedom do you need? Not only are you the prince of a kingdom which you will soon reclaim, but you now have the legendary Dagger of Time at your disposal to use as you will—**

_As long as I have something to fear from you,_ the Prince interrupted, _I am not yet free. _The tone he used was resolute, so much so that the Dark Prince decided not to challenge him.

They ascended to the next floor without resistance, living or inanimate, and the Dark Prince knew from their memory that they were approaching one of the palace's main areas. Another hallway of traps—he openly criticized the Prince and their forefathers for such bothersome and useless methods of defense—and they emerged into an enormous room, open on both sides and dotted with plush furniture and cushions. Between the gigantic pillars that supported the roof far overhead, the setting sun glared above the burning, desolate landscape that was their empire.

The Dark Prince was all for warfare, but seeing his _own_ land in ruins and strewn with wasted carcasses was entirely another matter. The sight angered him as much as it did the Prince, albeit in a different way and for a different reason, and with a subtle enthusiasm that they both felt, he urged, **Hurry it up, Prince. There's only so much left for him to destroy.**

Sensing that underlying emotion, the Prince nodded and moved on. For the first time in a long while, the two were at a temporary peace, brought together by thoughts of revenge.

At a run they cut through the room, past the occasional corpse of a fallen guard and the grim view through the archways. Morbidly amused, the Dark Prince recalled that the area was often used as an entertainment hall where, years before, traveling performers would frequently come to gather before the royal family. He had particularly enjoyed the women at such events, but try as he might to sway the Prince into a misdeed or two, his efforts were always rebuked.

Then, of course, the Dark Prince had been nothing more than an inner demon, a temptation that the Prince deemed himself too good to follow; that had all changed with the freeing of the Sands, though. That instance was not the first in which the Dark Prince had managed to get his way, and it had been a crucial step towards gaining the power and influence he now possessed.

Incomplete as it was.

But that was about to change—the Dark Prince constantly had some of his will twisted about the Prince's, hidden and waiting, and that grip strengthened at what happened next.

In the room's center, sprawled motionless across the floor, lay none other than the cause of the Dark Prince's late frustration. Heedless of any objections, the Prince hurried forward and dropped to his knees at Farah's side, heart beating wildly. Little time was needed to determine that she was alive—bruised in some places, but for the most part unharmed. At her side lay her bow, still clutched in her long fingers, and all around her sand glittered as the only remnants of what had obviously been a battle.

Memories began to surface in their mind, and, repulsed, the Dark Prince turned away from them. As eager as he was to snap at the Prince to move on now that he knew she was safe, he resisted, choosing instead to watch their hand as it caressed her olive-toned cheek. The Prince was caught in a combination of relief and remorse at the sight of his precious woman, allowing the Dark Prince's influence to slip a little further in.

If he noticed, the move was forgotten as Farah shifted slightly. The Prince's attention was completely on her, and without hesitation the Dark Prince surged forward.

From the mind to the tip of each extremity he forced himself, feeling the Prince's control harden as he realized what was happening, but it was too late—their fingers twitched, now a smoky black traced with bits of gold. The change was instantaneous to the Dark Prince, and he was permitted time to recollect his thoughts and impose them more forcefully over their body's will.

The end result—supported by the advantage his fury had over the Prince's petty feelings of love and compassion—was that he assumed control in a matter of seconds, and except for the physical changes that accompanied his presence, there was no outward sign of what had taken place beneath the skin. As such, his hand was still on Farah's cheek, and his grip around her jaw tightened ever so faintly.

_Don't!_ the Prince exploded. _If you harm her, I—_

Speaking over him, the Dark Prince said—the sensation of their mouth moving to _his_ wishes for once particularly pleasing—to the still form,

"No more will you stand in my way…" His grasp moved down to her neck; the Prince was putting forth every bit of power left to him to try and regain control. "Devious wench."

Her movement was so fast that he had difficulty following it. Without warning Farah was up, as swift and nimble as anything they could perform in similar timing, and in the blink of an eye had retreated several yards to fall on one knee, bow bent and aimed.

This action was perfectly fluid and precise. Grudgingly impressed, the Dark Prince stood. Her arrow point followed him.

_Not so pathetic now, is she?_ The thought was mocking, but proud.

**We'll see how fast she is when she's dead.**

Farah, as of yet, had made no sound. The Dark Prince studied her stoic expression, or more specifically, the eyes that watched him, and then smirked. The woman was all show.

"By all means," he urged, reaching for the Dagger, "_do_ make this more interesting!"

A _fwap_ was all he processed as the arrow shot past and nearly grazed his hand, a blow that was avoided by his jerking to the side. She set another to the string as he unsheathed the Dagger using one hand and snapped the other downward, calling the Daggertail to it. The Dark Prince took triumph in her look of disgust and shock, aimed at the sight of the jagged metal slithering smoothly over the surface of his arm.

"You really are…" Whatever he was, she decided not to say. Her bowstring stretched some more as she straightened up, hands steady. "Prince of this country or not, come near me again and I'll kill you."

It looked like she meant it. But a fight was what he had wanted, wasn't it? There was little fun otherwise.

"Very well. I won't take another step."

Farah took no visible reassurance in this statement—a wise move, for in the next second the Daggertail was whipping towards her. He had taken care to aim for her right side, which, as planned, consequently left her with no choice but to relinquish her stance as she dodged the strike. No longer at the mercy of her bow, the Dark Prince darted forward, Dagger in hand.

She scrambled to put the arrow back into place, managed, and fired as he reached her. The shaft missed his left shoulder by inches.

"What do you know?" he sneered after she only just avoided a slicing blow to the side from the Dagger. "It seems your aim's improved, after all."

Farah landed on all fours several yards away, eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Or perhaps you should try shooting in another direction entirely," the Dark Prince proposed sarcastically. "You'd probably have better luck hitting me that way." He arched his arm for another attack, the Daggertail now poised to strike again, but she was not about to let the matter drop, even when she jumped aside to avoid his assault.

"Why do you continue to speak as though you once knew me?" she demanded, rising to her feet again. "Until recently, I had never set foot in your land, and I doubt a prince as spoiled as you would bother venturing very far from his palace walls."

**Ouch.**

_You _did _insult her aim,_ the Prince muttered, clearly offended by her remark.

**I wouldn't have to if she didn't deserve it,** he retorted. **Last time I checked, we _still_ had scars on our—**

_Twang._

He dodged another arrow, charged, and was in front of her to bring the Dagger down on her head. She ducked and rolled to the side, subtly seizing the discarded spear of a dead guard and rising to meet the Dark Prince in a clash of metal on metal. Her bow clattered harmlessly to the floor as she was forced to use both arms in holding off his weight.

"Good, good!" he acknowledged. Her dark eyes bore into his barely half a foot away, close enough for him to see the swirling patterns of gold on his skin glinting in their depths. "But not good _enough_—"

He relinquished his battle of strength with her and dropped, swinging both of his legs at hers. To his surprise, Farah performed a brief jump to evade his kick, landed, and, with him utterly defenseless in his current position, up-righted her spear to jab him in the chest with the dull end and knock him onto his back. She swiftly stepped onto his stomach, pinning him, and as an extra precaution spun the spear around and placed its blade against his neck.

"Good," she commented, "but not good enough."

The Dark Prince scowled at both her arrogance and the Prince's silent snickering; but then catching sight of the blood-red sun behind her, he smirked again.

"What are you waiting for, princess? This is the part where you finish me off."

"You never answered me," Farah replied simply. "About how you know me."

He let out a harsh _ha_. "You wish for an interrogation? Don't you have some civilians to save?"

The spear moved closer. "Mock me if you will, but remember that _I_ hold the upper hand here. Now drop your weapons and answer me."

Pretending to consider his options, he answered at length, "After being beaten by a woman, I don't suppose my dignity could suffer much more. Very well—" The Dagger fell from his hand. "I'll humor you."

Her gaze traveled to his left arm. "The chain, too."

A chuckle escaped him. "I'm afraid that's out of the question." The Daggertail clinked against the hard ground as it slipped through his fingers, but stopped above his wrist where it joined his black flesh. Looking up at her, the Dark Prince caught another glimpse of revulsion. "You witness such strange sights, and yet you marvel at something as simple as how I know you," he mused.

"It's no stranger than a man who puts meaningless fights and his warmongering ahead of his kingdom."

"Warmongering?" he repeated, his head tilting to study the Daggertail as though he had forgotten her. "That's a bit drastic—" He turned the chain over in his fingers. "—don't you think?" One of the gleaming spines caught a ray of sunlight, instantly reflecting it into Farah's eyes. She winced, raised a hand—

—And the Dark Prince batted her spear aside. Blinded, she still had the sense to back away as he leapt up, but the warm, razor-sharp metal was already entwined about her right forearm, biting into her soft skin like a knife through paper.

He stood, ignoring the Prince's angry cries, and gave a tug that brought the woman to her knees. Once more in his grip, the Dagger of Time flashed in the small twirl that placed it in the traditional stabbing position: hilt above his thumb, blade protruding from the right side of his fist.

Her arm was already bleeding heavily; red, brown, and gold blended amid the tangled mess of torn skin and twisted metal. Looking down at her, the Dark Prince noted, was almost like looking in a mirror.

He lifted his hand, enjoying her exclamation as her injured limb was forced up as well.

_Stop it!_

Her skin continued to split in several places, literally ripped between Farah's weight and his pulling. Fresh blood streamed down her arm in a web of scarlet. She gasped, but attempted to rise on shaking legs.

_Let her go! Your quarrel is with me!_

The Dagger crossed over his left arm, drawn back.

_Don't!_

"What?" he hissed at her, a final blow before the kill. "No childish words from your mother to save you this time?"

_Bastard!_

Wide eyes met his, stunned.

"Now die—"

The blade slashed.

_DON'T!_

"_Ugh!"_

The Dark Prince lost his hold on the Daggertail and Farah hit the ground, cradling her arm to her chest. He swallowed howls of pain and rage, barely legible as he roared aloud, _"What did you do?"_

Between lengths of Daggertail in his left arm, the Dagger of Time had cut into the area just below his wrist. Blood was already beginning to puddle at his feet from the small but deep—and painful—wound.

"You!" he growled, wresting the blade out of his arm with a wet slicing sound. "You hit us on purpose, you fool!"

_Yes._ The Prince was calm. Firm. _And I'll have you slit our throat before permitting you to touch her again._

Already enraged, the Dark Prince's fury continued to rise at what he deemed was an empty threat. He took a step towards Farah; that was as far as he got. His body shuddered, froze, and then began to convulse as his will stumbled. The Prince was striving for control once again, but now there was an edge to his efforts, a force that seemed to beat the Dark Prince about the head and neck as he struggled to maintain his hold on their body.

"Far…ah…"

**What!** They fell to their hands and knees as the internal battle raged. Still the Prince managed to speak again, his words mingling here and there with incensed outcries.

"Run…run, Farah…_I'll kill you_…go…I can't…you _idiot,_ don't…you…I can't hold myself back…much…longer…" The Dark Prince's voice was overridden completely, and hoarsely, desperately, the Prince cried out, "_Now! _Don't let me see where you go! Run, before it takes control—_agh!_"

In the corner of their vision, Farah stood facing what must have been an incomprehensible sight. But she didn't run.

"Prince…what—"

"GO, NOW! Please!" Another yell, a final jerk, and the body housing two souls collapsed, still and silent.

* * *

**  
Of all the lowdown, idiotic, devious things to do, he just _had_ to do _that._ That had to be worse than when she seduced him and took the Dagger…** A pause. **…Then again, maybe not.**

He heaved a nonexistent sigh. In his current state, the Dark Prince could not feel direct physical pain, but on the outskirts of his mental reach was the distant throbbing of the untreated wound.

**Not only that,** he went on to no one in particular, **but apparently I've inherited his annoying habit of talking to himself.**

A flicker of white sparked nearby; the Prince was regaining consciousness.

**Well, it's about _time._**

Their eyes opened, filling with harsh, dying sunlight. The Prince moaned and put a hand to their head.

**If you're taking so long just to spite me, it's working. But remember that it's _your_ kingdom burning out there, too.**

After a few more seconds the Prince sat up, examining the arms and skin that were still black, but now back under his control. When his gaze fell on the blood-splattered slash below their left hand, he started.

"Farah—!"

**Oh, calm down. You're embarrassing me. I didn't see where she went, so your wench is safe for the moment.** The Dark Prince knew the possibility of her dying from blood loss was too much to hope for.

"Good." The Prince stood up, a movement that aggravated the gash and made him wince.

**You've got no one to blame for that but yourself.**

The accusation was ignored. Swaying momentarily, the Prince began to walk towards the doorway opposite the one they had entered.

Convinced that the question was not coming, the Dark Prince said matter-of-factly, **The reason you fainted is because our little power struggles tend to take more energy than is good for the body.** He didn't mention that his ability to take full control as he just had was severely limited, even difficult for him, or that it took a massive toll on his consciousness.

Saying nothing, the Prince turned into a small hallway.

**Just try to remember that the next time you decide to play hero.**

"There will be no next time," came the soft but solid reply. "As far as I'm concerned, ridding myself of you is just as important as regaining my throne."

**I tire of hearing you say the same things over and over, so keep your sentimental ideals and sense of justice to yourself. I know your goals and you know mine.**

"You sound threatened."

**_You_ misunderstand me, Prince,** he said coolly. **Now that the pieces are all set, the game is _bound_ to get more interesting from here on out.** He gave an unseen smile that was evident in his voice. **Let's see which of us has what it takes to win.**


End file.
